


Broken Masks

by StripedScribe



Series: A gift for you, and you, and you [5]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Gen, Healing, Injury, Medical Inaccuracies, Mental Health Issues, Scars, dde2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26211310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StripedScribe/pseuds/StripedScribe
Summary: "Eventually, the mask you show everyone will break"The city gone to turmoil, with too much crime, too much danger, Matt stops sleeping, stops living, in order to protect it. When his mask finally starts to crumble, the others notice, and need to do something to fix itFor the Daredevil and Defenders 2020 summer exchange
Relationships: Jessica Jones & Matt Murdock, Luke Cage & Jessica Jones & Matt Murdock & Danny Rand, Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson & Karen Page
Series: A gift for you, and you, and you [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2091588
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47
Collections: Daredevil and Defenders Exchange 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SincerelyAQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SincerelyAQueen/gifts).



It was bizarre, at first, the numbers of times they’d stumble into the same dumspter. Or just how they’d become to accept they were the first places they’d look for the others, if they weren’t answering phones. Matt, they joked used them as his second home, as much as he was sickened by the smell of them, they were the softest place to land off a roof injured. And of the 4 of them, he was definitely injured the most. Even uninjured, he’d have to sometimes go exploring around them again, having launched his cane and jacket down a side street before racing off.

Foggy had joked about putting trackers in his clothes, to help them find his items after a impromptu Daredevil session. But Matt hadn’t permanently lost anything, yet at least. Yes there’d been a jacket or two that had needed a fair bit of care and washing, and his coat was still not quite the same after finding it in a raccoon nest, but he’d found it all.

Jess, she claimed at least, was using them as stakeouts, for investigations. And, well, she could be sat there for a while some nights, so of course she’d have a drink or two whilst waiting, eyes trained towards a window, a rooftop, a door. Camera and notepad at the ready, and more recently, a first aid kit, stashed in her bag, because even if she was on her own stakeout, Matt would often find her, to help him with his own research, or because he was too battered to go on and needing patching.

Luke and Danny found themselves in dumpsters less often, more instead looking around them when the others went missing, checking their usual landing spots. There was still nights though, when Danny would tumble off a rooftop, into a dumpster, landing dazed and confused, sometimes on top of Matt or Jess who’d already claimed it as their own. Luke, with Claire on speed dial, would end up dragging them all back for first aid, on those messy nights.

It happened slowly at first, too slow for them to really notice. Month by month, they’d find Matt in a dumpster a little more often, lending him a hand to pull himself out, or on the worst nights, dragging him out and to Claire’s. In the early months of the team being a thing, it wasn’t the place to ask, and it just seemed as though he was becoming more comfortable, happier to ask for help. It was a good thing, they all thought, they all said to each other, that he’s asking for help when he’s injured, or in need of help, not like before, not like with all the stories Claire and Foggy had told them. Of finding his body near death in his own apartment, of him nearly drowning in the Hudson. Of Castle shooting him in the head, a day without hearing, without help. They were all glad, too glad, when he asked for help, happy, even with the annoyance, for him to ring them in the dead of night, for backup, for rescue.

They were communicating, all of the Defenders, and their friends. Keeping each other in the loop, knowing that they had Claire, had each other, for when things went wrong. Learning how to look after each other, how much Danny could heal, what it was worth healing, what was worth just waiting, or stitching themselves.

The devil would be out every night, senses cast to the stretches of the city, listening, knowing where his team was, what was happening. And over time, they’d made the city quieter, made it safer, pockets of crime shrinking and disappearing.

He’d know that although he’d return to an empty apartment, in the daytime he could be with people again, a trio crowded in a still too small office, helping people, saving them. And then at night, back out on the streets, barely time in between jobs to sleep, or to relax. But it was fine, he was needed, and so he would stay out, stay busy.

As nights became quieter, even criminals being forced back to their homes before sunrise, he too could slip home, patrol being less important, even as he kept his senses tuned to the city. Hearing over-amplified, listening out for shouts, for screams, for crime and danger. Even when nights seemed quiet enough to not worry, that anyone else would feel safe in the fact, or supposed fact, that there was no crime.

He couldn’t switch off. Not anymore. Not since that terrible night. A selfish, selfish night.


	2. Chapter 2

It had seemed quiet, petty crimes all there was to deal with, attempted burglary, car theft. Chasing up some leads on the gangs who were trying to reform. Quiet enough that he’d spent a couple of hours just running around, trying to find something to do, and after nothing, wandered home to collapse into bed, to meditate and sink into sleep. A for once almost peaceful sleep, the belief that the city was finally becoming calm and quiet enough to not need constant care. That the people were becoming kinder, the crime disappearing. 

Screaming woke him. Blocks and blocks away, before it cut out, his heart racing in his chest.

He bolted up, pure adrenaline pumping through his veins, even as he scrabbled for the suit, limbs uncoordinated from sleep and panic, wrestling, fighting to get on the armour, to get on the mask, to race upstairs, outside, and across the city. Sprinting across rooftops, knowing a vague direction, a vague location, even from the briefest of screams.

But it was silent. No noise of scuffle, no stench of bloody copper. No gunpowder, no sign of a recently moved car. Some residents had awoken, the humming of lights turned on as curtains twitched, no one really knowing where the noise had come from, no one going to call for help when they didn’t know what was happening.

He paced, rooftop after rooftop, listening, searching, trying to find anything, any clue. Doubting himself, doubting if the scream was just a dream, if he was hallucinating, if he was in completely the wrong area. Eventually, he ended up sat, perched on a rooftop, losing track of time until the sun started to shine, the noise of alarms going off across the city. Defeated, he forced himself home, to change, and go to work.

He’d never know what happened. Even after many nights heading out there again, searching, for anything. He’d never switch off again though.

For a while, the others, especially Foggy, had noticed he was more twitchy, showing concern, and worry, trying to persuade him to switch off. A rough suit made itself at home in the office, and he stopped drinking, needing to be ready to go at a moment’s notice.

But he either got better at hiding it, or they got used to it. A perfect new mask, hiding his tiredness, his exhaustion. Hiding, as best as he could, his injuries. The scars that were building up, each night, easily hidden under his day suits. Even if he’d taken to carrying round spares shirts, just in case that wound started weeping again. He’d force a smile, thankful for his team, both teams, for their support. Hiding the grimace as a hug displaced a nearly healed rib, laugh off their comments about finally accepting help. Laugh off comments about reserving him a dumpster, join in on the jokes of being dragged back to Claire’s on the nights he’d pushed it too far. He couldn’t take a night off though. Even with the others, they couldn’t hear what he could, they couldn’t keep an eye, or an ear, on all of the city. To get to where help was needed. Their help was good though, on nights there was too many people to help, to leave him free, whilst someone else saved another. And to rescue him, when he found himself in too deep, investigating a gang, or just too far injured to even limp himself home. He knew they saw it as a good thing though, just thought he was getting better at asking for help. Deep down, he knew what he was doing was dangerous, was unsafe, that this mask he’d created would surely break, shattering and showing all his scars. Not yet though. Once the city was truly quiet, then he could take a break. Could put away the mask, retire. For now at least, the screams carried on. Gunshots, broken glass, the smell of adrenaline and copper blood filling the air.

It was never quiet.


	3. Chapter 3

He could feel the tiredness beginning to show. Two months of barely sleeping, snatching quick minutes to meditate, to try and heal, but ultimately failing. He’d stopped going to church, to mass, to confession, instead using the weekends to patrol again, to scope out someplace new, or catch up on office work he’d abandoned in the week. All over his body, the usual scattering of bruises and cuts were slow to heal, and he could feel the puffiness of tired bags under his eyes.

“Are you sure you’re okay Matt? You’ve seemed really out of it recently.” Carrying coffee, Foggy placed one down on Matt’s desk, its usual spot marked by a stained ring.

“Yeah, just busy, there’s this gang, trying to stop them.” And everyone else, he thought to himself.

“Please try and take care of yourself Matt, you are asking the others for help still?”

”Yes…” He sighed, taking a sip of his coffee.

“You know I don’t mean it like that. I don’t want to hear you’ve died again, or walk into your apartment to find you dying. You know I worry, hell, we both, we all worry about you.”

“I don’t need your pity Foggy, we did this last time.”

“I can still worry about you. You’re only human, even with those goddamn senses, and you’ve had more than enough near death sentences.”

“I’m being more careful. I’ve got the others, I’ve got Claire. I know I can call you, call Karen. But no one else can do what I can do, I can’t trust the police to be everywhere at once, honestly, I don’t even know if I can trust the police at all. They’re getting worse.”

“I know, but how long until they decide they’ve had enough of you doing their job? You know better than anyone how they see vigilantes.”

“Some are on our side, some know we’re doing right.”

“Would they be enough to stop the others though? Can the likes of Brett be enough to stop a rampage, once they decide they’ve had enough?

“No, and I know this Foggy! I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do though!” Annoyed, he removed his glasses, rubbing hands over his eyes. “If I could stop, I would, but I can’t hear all those screams and do nothing Fogs!”

Silence for a second, before Foggy quietly spoke. “I know. I know Matt. I just. I can’t go to your funeral again. I can’t bury an empty coffin again, or worse, you. I know you can’t stop, and I wish you could just do less, but it’s a wicked world right now.”

“I’m sorry Fogs. I’m trying, I promise.”

”I know. You got time for a drink tonight after work? Just half an hour?”

“I can’t. Sorry.”

“They can’t cover you, just for half an hour? Are you all doing such insane hours, you need to sleep Matt, don’t lose your own life for Daredevil.”

“I’m sorry Foggy, just drop it, please?” Picking up his earbuds, he went back to listening through their latest case.

“Oh Matt.” Leaving, Foggy shut the door, walking over to his own office, muttering softly to Karen, hopefully out of earshot. “He’s doing too much again. I’m going to message Jess.”

Living through the supposed death of a friend had brought the once strangers much closer together. Even if it was just through texting or calling, with none of their routines ever really matching up, the rest of the Defenders, alongside their own closest friends, were talking more.

FN: Jess?

JJ: What’s up Nelson? I don’t have him, he said he was working today

FN: yeah, no he’s here, he’s in one piece. just had a question  
JJ: Fire away

FN: are you all insanely busy right now? or is Matt on a spiral?

JJ: Not that busy. He’s asking for help more, think there’s stuff going on

FN: Matt stuff or city stuff? hes constantly out straight from work, won’t come out for drinks

JJ: I thought that he was doing less. I don’t see him many nights anymore, thought that was because he was heading back earlier

FN: I’m worried. he seems to be injured more often, or at least telling me more often.

JJ: I took it as telling more often. I’ll scope him out tonight

FN: thanks


	4. Chapter 4

JJ: Shit. Definitely spiral.

JJ: Sorry know it’s like 2am

JJ: Injury night, he’s fine but had to go Claire’s, good job I was half stalking him.

JJ: He mentioned to Claire he hadn’t been going to church anymore? Did you know? Sounds like he’s spending all weekend in the suit, which I didn’t know, must have been avoiding us all.

JJ: He’s been masking it well. Did something happen? He was muttering something about screaming.

JJ: I’m still at Claire’s with him, he’s sleeping now, Danny and Colleen are out patrolling for him. He was trying to carry on, ignoring the fact he couldn’t walk.

JJ: He’d asked us to do that for him before, to patrol some nights. We just assumed that it was so he could have it off, know he liked to know that the city was covered. But I guess he hasn’t been taking it off, has been off doing something else.

JJ: We thought asking for help was a good thing, that he was taking it easier.  
JJ: Claire said he needs to be on bed rest for at least two days. Really didn’t take that well.

JJ: I’ll stay here for the night, take him back to his in the morning. He won’t be in work tomorrow, hope you don’t have court… I’ll sit with him in the day, know what he’s like, save you worrying.

JJ: Maybe come round to his when you’re finished work? I’ll talk to him in the day and try and work out whats happened/what we can do to help.

FN: Shit. I’ll do a half day, close the office after lunch. How injured is he?

JJ: Worst is a gash in his arm, stitches and blood loss. Then usual covering of cuts, and bruises. Nothing broken. Think was cornered.

FN: He needs armour again, I don’t know why he keeps going out in just that.

JJ: Your guess is as good as mine.

JJ: No key on him, guess he leaves the roof access open?

FN: Should be.

JJ: Getting him home now.

FN: See you later. Good luck.

“You don’t need to stay Jess.” They stumbled through the door together, Matt almost tripping over his own feet, wincing as it pulled on healing wounds.

“I don’t trust you to stay on bed rest.”

“I’m fine though. Nothing that won’t be healed up by tomorrow.” They sat down on the sofa, side by side.   
”You’re too stubborn. Anyone else, that’s a week at least. Claire’s been generous in two days for you, we all know that’s a struggle. Patrols covered, its a Friday, so you’re off work today, and then the weekend doesn’t count. Foggy’s said he was planning a half day today anyway, so you’re not missing out too much. You’ll get yourself killed going out like this.”

“I can’t take time off though.”

“You can. That’s what we’re here for, we found a team, all of us protecting the same city. We thought you were asking for help, asking us to do patrols so you could have a night off. But you’ve been working, constantly, and at the weekend?”

“It’s not that bad.”

“It is Matt. You’re going to kill yourself. And you were hiding it all, how long has this been going on, how long have you been constantly working for?”

He remained silent, a frown on his face as he picked at the bandages on his hand. “A couple of months? It’ll quieten down soon, won’t need to go out that much then.”  
”You shouldn’t need to go out that much now! If any of us were doing this, you’d be appalled, why is it fine that you are?”

“You can’t hear the screams.” He sighed. “I missed something, I couldn’t find them, because I’d tuned the city out, gone to sleep on a night it seemed quiet. Someone screaming, such a high pitched noise, that was suddenly cut out. I was too late. By the time I got there, I wasn’t even sure it was the right place, no signs of struggles, even if it seemed like other people had heard. Even then, even though people in houses were looking outside, no one called for help. When I’m the only person who can hear and care about these, how can I just ignore them? Even now, I can hear blocks away, can hear arguments, a burglary that’s been stopped by the police, how can I be expected to just ignore those people?”

Breathing shuddering, he carried on. “How is it right for me, to know that someone is being attacked, being trafficked, being burgled, and to just sit here and listen?”

“Use us Matt. We can’t hear to the extent you can, we rely on the police comms, on stumbling into crime as we do a patrol. Use us, we’ll fix something, we’re supposed to be a team. And even if you can’t switch off, even if you need to spend your nights off talking to us, take a chance to rest. Trust us Matt. You don’t need to do this on your own.”

“I’m so used to doing this on my own. I don’t know, I don’t know if I could, just switch off and trust… Oh.” He grimaced. “That sounds awful, I never said that aloud before. Of course I trust you all, I know that.”

“Let us help you Matt. Just cut down a bit, let yourself have a life outside of working, outside of patrolling. You’ve been wearing a mask for so long, I didn’t realise, none of us did, but we don’t know the real Matt, do we?”

It took time, and it wasn’t easy, but slowly, slowly, they relaxed into some sort of routine. Investing in comms, meant that even if Matt was ‘off’ and heard something, he could ask someone else to deal with it. And for the others, it was easier, quicker than relying on phones, to just jump onto comms when they were free to work, to patrol or just be ‘on call’. Scars slowly healed, and they grew closer, a family in each other they never thought they’d have. And the city did grow quieter, as it became known it was being protected, or defended. In some bizarre way, even they police came to trust their team more, not quite working with them, but definitely not working against them. Masks finally dropped, they all finally, had chance to heal, and people to talk to that understood what they’d each been through.


End file.
